


Devil in the Details

by thanhbear



Category: The Mystic Nine, 老九门 | Old Nine Gates (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanhbear/pseuds/thanhbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zhang Qi Shan wears his scars but never talks about them. The only way to understand him is to notice the finer details.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil in the Details

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd work because I honestly don't know what I'm trying to accomplish here. This is like a set of headcanons that have floated around in my head since I've heard these specific lines. Hopefully they're presented coherently enough~

–– _“I thought you didn’t like to listen to opera.”_

\------------

Fo Ye’s closest friend is a well known opera performer but he himself hates opera. This fact is also well known. Nobody within the perimeters of Changsha would be foolish enough to suggest that Fo Ye enjoyed the opera.

Er Ye long gave up on trying to get Fo Ye to see a show. Everybody who knew one of the most sacred things he could give another person, other than his trust, was his word. Er Ye could get both with the ease of turning over a hand, but the latter was impossible if it was in regards to the opera house. Even when a generous benefactor from the north funded for a performance for his wife to enjoy, Fo Ye never gave his promise to come watch.

Some people still ran a small betting pool on whether Fo Ye would watch that show in particular. Whether they counted on him to stay home or watch the show, both sides lost money.

Finding his way to the backstage before the show started wasn’t that hard of a feat for Fo Ye. There were no traps under the flooring or hidden munitions in the walls of this opera house but the hair on his arms still stood up. Each step was taken with care and grace. They would’ve been undetectable to anybody, but of course not to Er Ye’s ears.

“So _Zhang Da Fo Ye_ finally arrived.” Er Ye glanced up at Fo Ye’s reflection in the vanity mirror but continued to paint on his brows.

He watched the gentle movements of Er Ye’s hand. They were the same as when Er Ye practiced his calligraphy.

He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t, now would I? Thought I would wish you some luck.”

Er Ye light chuckle floated in the air. “The house is indeed blessed by having you finally setting foot inside it. I trust you already know the rule within this place.”

“Once you start singing, no one is allowed entrance or departure,” he recited. “Don’t you worry. I plan to leave right before that happens.”

The brush barely made a sound when Er Ye placed it down on the counter top. “You make it seem like I have man-eating tigers in this place. The day you sit through a play is the day where the heavens will collapse.”

A small smile crept on Fo Ye’s face. “Unless you figure out a way to sing softer, don’t count on it. I didn’t come for the opera. I came for you.”  

 

 

 

–– _“There’s even a bowl of noodles specially prepared for you. You like eating noodles?”_

\------------------

Even as a kid Fo Ye never needed to go out to eat. The food that were cooked with too much oil or sat out for too long weighed too heavily in his stomach for his liking. His family had money and money paid for good cooks who made good food. Food that never ended up attacking the rest of his body and interrupted his work outs.

Er Ye didn’t care.

Er Ye dragged him out to that noodle stand with blatant disregard for his digestive system.

“You keep eating like this and you’re not going to have proper strength to perform. You might even lose your voice. Then where would you be?” Fo Ye's words stemmed from a kernel of genuine concern even if his intentions were to prod and jest.

Er Ye did not take these jokes lightly. He dealt back more jabs about Fo Ye’s ‘sloppy’ martial art stances than Fo Ye could recall.

When Fo Ye mentioned how plain and lacking the bone broth noodles were, Er Ye stopped talking to him altogether. ( That was usually how Fo Ye knew he really struck a nerve. ) He didn’t understand why his friend enjoyed those noodles so much until he met the girl Er Ye saved in the streets many years later.

Fo Ye heard the city buzz with excitement and pride over Changsha’s noble hero. _Of course, that Er Yue Hong would_. People believed he was king in his opera house, but no, that fact was lacking. All of Changsha was Er Ye’s stage. It didn’t surprise him that Er Ye put on a huge show in the middle of a street, playing ‘Hero who saved the beauty.’

What surprised him was the fact that Er Ye still ate those noodles even after getting the girl, and that _he_ had to continue eating them with Er Ye.

“If you want enjoy your wife’s cooking, that is normal. Why must you drag me into this as well? Do I owe you from another life?” Every meal, regardless of occasion, cooked by Ya Tou was always noodles.

Er Ye’s jaw clenched. Fo Ye knew he was edging on the boundary line again.

“Would it kill you not to be so blunt for once? Just finish your noodles,” Er Ye instructed.

Fo Ye had no reason to listen to him, but he compiled anyway. He had other choice words regarding how Er Ye was rushing into big decisions with little forethought, but he swallowed them all down as he drank the broth.

“I’m finishing this bowl, but it’s not because I like these noodles. I’ve developed a taste for them because of you.”  

 

 

 

–– _“You’re even more suitable for me, don’t you think?”_

\------------

He was never bad towards the women he was with. Though apparently, that conclusion was not shared among those who had been with him.

In some aspects he was good to be with. 

He always had the nicest gifts to give out on any big occasions. Though the gifts given on the smaller occasions were no jokes either. 

One could get intoxicated from receiving a smile from him. 

Nobody dared to mess with you and your family once you were associated with Fo Ye. People looked at you with respect and envy even if you just stepped out to visit the silk shop. They all knew that if you wanted, you could get Fo Ye to buy up the entire shop. People chased after the man behind the power for the mere association with it.

The man himself was not bad–– aside for his people skills. Those were something short of terrible.

Conversations with him were concise, to the point, and unfruitful. Someone could date him for months and not know him any better than any other civilian of Changsha. ––With the exception of his friends. The talks between him and his friends were no longer or elaborate than the ones between you and him. But you’d learn quickly that the reputation the Nine Gates gained for being so close knit was all too accurate.

Out of all of them, most of the women he dated related to Ba Ye best. He came around often and left with a too familiar whining or nagging tone stuck in his throat. They were often the same way.

On days where Fo Ye weren’t tied down by his work, he hid his face behind yet another war strategy book. On those other days, he’d parrot the same phrase over and over, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” before he left for work and returned in not-okay condition to a worrying partner. No matter how much they got on him, asking for a way in, he kept himself guarded.

Be it tomb or Fo Ye himself, nothing was guarded heavily enough to keep Er Ye out. The Nine Gates knew this, and although Fo Ye’s past romances didn’t know explicitly, they felt it as well. 

Er Ye was hardly by Fo Ye’s side since he got married. If he came to visit, he came sparingly. If they spent time together, silence dominated most of their conversations. Hours would pass before Er Ye’s wife sent a carriage to take Er Ye home. 

Most of Fo Ye’s past romances could never figure out why that shared silence felt more intimate than most of the nights they spent with Fo Ye. They all eventually left after arriving at the conclusion that Fo Ye sought after solitude, and someone who could enjoy that solitude with him. Unfortunately, they themselves could not. A man like Fo Ye who cared too much for his nation, but cared too little for his own health, needed his solitude. But _they_ needed help shouldering those burdens. That type of support would never come with silence.   

“It’s always better for two people to live together. I’ve told you that,” Er Ye reminded.

“You and Ya Tou should stop playing matchmaker.” He didn’t have time to continue humoring them. “I didn’t agree to this because I needed company. I did it to make you– and your wife– happy.”

 

 

 

––  _“Zhang Qi Shan has deep roots in Changsha. When he’s in Changsha, no one dares to touch him.”_

\------------

Zhang Qi Shan did not lose any battles he did not want to lose. He hated to lose more than anything. Cuts and stabs did not dictate who won and loss. If anything, he was living proof of that.

Long before Er Ye slashed his shoulder with a sword, Zhang Qi Shan already admitted defeat to him.

The blade ate into his skin and he held his stance firmly, letting Er Ye take his anger out on him. Others had also reach this point where they coated their blades with his blood, but he never handed his life over to them like he had now with Er Ye. He had a duty to Changsha to fulfill but also debt to repay to Er Ye. Er Ye’s pain was too great to bear and Zhang Qi Shan was an accomplice in hurting him.

He accepted Ya Tou’s request to hold onto the medicine out of consideration for her, and the fact that she did it all for Er Ye. Of all people, he understood the lengths one would go to for Er Ye. 


End file.
